


Bookends

by the_road_I_know



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anxious Katsuki Yuuri, But he's just figuring things out, Dancing, Depressed Victor Nikiforov, Eros Katsuki Yuuri, Fluff, Just two lost souls finding each other, M/M, Mild Smut, Phichit Chulanont Is a Good Friend, Supportive Victor Nikiforov, Writer Katsuki Yuuri, Writer Victor Nikiforov, Yuri Plisetsky is a Brat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:22:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22071397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_road_I_know/pseuds/the_road_I_know
Summary: Victor and Yuuri are successful authors at crossroads in their careers when their lives intersect at a book-signing one summer evening.But nothing could have prepared them for the night of revelations that would follow or for the magic they would bring into each other's lives.Sometimes the thing we want most is exactly what we need.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri & Victor Nikiforov & Yuri Plisetsky, Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Phichit Chulanont & Katsuki Yuuri
Comments: 18
Kudos: 112
Collections: Yuri!!! on Ice Secret Skater 2019





	Bookends

**Author's Note:**

  * For [victuurikatsu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/victuurikatsu/gifts).

> Happy New Year to the amazing [victuurikatsu!](https://archiveofourown.org/users/victuurikatsu/works)  
I really hope you like this!

“Yuuri.”

> “_That was a disappointment. Seriously, what kind of excuse was that for the most awaited YA fantasy of 2019?_" Yuuri read aloud from the review on his phone. "_This book made my eyes hurt—_"

Phichit pulled the phone from Yuuri’s hand. “I swear to God, Yuuri. I know I’ve told you not to read reviews.” He glanced down at the screen and arched an eyebrow. “The Book Tiger again?”

Yuuri tried to snatch the phone back but Phichit pocketed it. 

“You know he’s the most followed reviewer on Goodreads,” Yuuri muttered. “Thousands of people read his reviews.”

“And? Why should you care what one blogger’s opinion is?”

“Because he’s right.” Yuuri turned to the rack of newspapers at the end of the bar where they waited for their coffees. “Besides, it’s not just one opinion,” he said as he picked up the _New York Times_ _Book Review_. “And you can’t discount _this_ one.” Yuuri had already seen the _Times_ review but he forced himself though another silent reading. 

> _The first book in Yuuri Katsuki’s Crumbling Prince trilogy was a compelling fantasy that wove the elements of destiny, romance, and the search for one’s true self into a breath-stopping tale. Unfortunately, while the second installment in this epic fantasy undertaking lacks none of the lyrical prose we’ve come to expect, it ultimately reads more like the step-sister’s ill-fitting attempts at Cinderella’s glass slipper than the fairy tales we’re used to seeing from Katsuki. Undoubtedly—_

The paper was yanked from Yuuri’s hands and he met Phichit’s eyes with a frown.

“You underestimate me. Of course I can discredit the _Times_. It has lame editors who select lame critics.” Phichit waved the paper in front of Yuuri’s eyes before tossing it back on the rack. 

Yuuri sighed. It was better that he not keep reading anyway. He knew the review on the next page was a glowing recommendation for Victor Nikiforov’s latest novel, which was already generating well-deserved Pulitzer buzz, and which only served as another reminder that Yuuri was nowhere near that level. “I knew I shouldn’t have rushed it out. This is going to disappoint so many people.”

“Come on, it’s going to be fine.” Their coffees arrived and Phichit handed one to Yuuri. “It’s the second book in a trilogy. Middle books always have the worst reception anyway. And this is nothing you can't bounce back from. Trust me, your fans will still be dying to see how you wrap things up in the next one.”

“Yeah,” Yuuri mumbled and took a sip of his coffee. He couldn't admit that he hadn’t been able to write even one line of the next book yet—that he hadn't been able to write one line of anything for a while. At this point, he didn’t see how he’d get the first draft on his publisher’s desk in six months. 

“Anyway, forget about all that for now.” Phichit grinned and handed Yuuri his phone back as they left the Starbucks and headed down Wabash Ave. “You’re about to be surrounded by adoring fans.”

Yuuri internally groaned and glanced at Phichit. “You know you really don’t have to come with today.” 

“This again? You think there’s a chance I’d miss it? Besides, I expect you to be there for me if I ever get a book tour.”

“You know I’ll be there if you want me to.” Yuuri took a deep breath and tried to calm his suddenly speeding heart as they crossed the overpass and walked the concrete steps down to the little book store on Illinois Street. “I don’t know why I keep agreeing to these things.” 

“You get like this whenever you have to speak in front of people. But we both know you love the attention.” Phichit widened his eyes innocently at Yuuri’s death glare. “What? You do. Don’t try to deny it. And anyway, you deserve it. You’re the best writer I know.”

Yuuri shook his head and hid his face behind another drink of his coffee. “Thanks, but not even close. Victor Nikiforov is the best writer you know.”

Phichit rolled his eyes, but flashed the indulgent smile Yuuri had gotten used to seeing. “He’s _your_ idol, not mine. Anyway, here, before we go in.” He leaned in toward Yuuri and held his phone out to take a selfie. “Gotta let everyone know where to find you."

“I doubt anyone is that interested in tracking me down,” Yuuri mumbled after Phichit had snapped a few and was tapping away on his phone. Phichit only grinned. 

Yuuri unlocked his own phone and went to his Instagram. There on his feed was a . . . not terrible picture of him and his roommate smiling in front of the bookstore where a neon ‘after-words New & Used Books’ sign glowed from the window. 

> ** _phichit+chu _**_with @yuuri-katsuki at after-words books in Chicago for day 1 of #thecrumblingprince tour!  
#afterwordsbookstore #chicago #YuuriKatsuki #bestseller_

“Well, let’s get this over with,” Yuuri said as he pulled the door open. 

Phichit followed him in. “Want to try the Thai place next door after?”

Yuuri glanced back with a lifted brow. “I thought you swore off Thai restaurants after that experience with JJ Thai. You know nothing in the U.S. will taste like your mom’s cooking, don’t you?”

Phichit huffed a dramatic, long-suffering sigh. “You’re right. Let’s just do the steakhouse around the corner then.” 

“Wherever there’s alcohol is fine. I’ll need a drink after this.”

* * *

The second glass of some kind of cucumber and gin concoction called ‘It’s Raining Cats & Dogs’ rolled down Yuuri’s throat with a welcome burn. One city down, twenty-four to go. 

“That was the most fun I’ve had in I don’t know how long.” Phichit grinned. “I still can’t get over that girl in cosplay who showed up with every book you’d ever written.” 

“God, I hope she doesn’t feel like this one is a massive waste of her time.” Yuuri hated the thought, but he wouldn’t be surprised; it had been so damned difficult to write in the last year and when he’d finally relinquished the book to his editor, he'd had to accept that it wasn’t up to his standards.

Phichit only shook his head and smiled. 

Yuuri took another drink. Maybe he was too old, at 26, to be writing YA fiction. Maybe he had simply run out of ideas. Or maybe his heart just wasn’t in it after his embarrassment at the Nebulas the year before. But whatever it was, he had seriously begun to wonder whether this book wouldn’t be his last.

Phichit though—Phichit was at the beginning of his career, about to have his first novel published, and he really should be out having fun, not sitting in a boring restaurant with Yuuri. “Anyway, you’ll have double the fans after you’re published, and I'll be the first one to show up in Arthur Stuart cosplay,” Yuuri said, tipping his glass to his lips to get at the ice cubes at the bottom.

“Oh my god, don’t joke. Promise you’ll wear his skates too.” Phichit leaned forward in his chair, his eyes bright. 

Yuuri couldn’t help laughing at the image. “Do you want me to end up with two broken ankles?”

“You won’t break your ankles.” Phichit waved his arm dismissively, but only a few seconds later broke into his grin again. “Besides, if it gets people more interested in my book, two broken ankles are worth it.”

* * *

The quivering nerves beneath Yuuri’s skin demanded movement. He couldn’t go back to their apartment yet, not with this buzz of energy running through him. But he also couldn’t impose on more of his roommate’s time, so over Phichit’s obligatory protests, Yuuri pushed him into an Uber with a wave and set off down State street.

Chicago had been home for five years and Yuuri had long ago admitted it was beautiful in its own way. The sleek steel and paned glass skyscrapers were like nothing in his tiny Japanese hometown, but the drowsy river that wound through the city and the many bridges that spanned it did sometimes remind him of Hasetsu. And other times, when sitting on the shore of one of the city’s beaches with the gulls calling overhead, he could almost imagine he was back home again and beside the ocean. 

Yuuri tilted his face to the late afternoon sun. Beginning in Chicago gave the start of his tour the illusion of relaxation but he knew all too well that twenty-four cities over the next five weeks would be a grind. Just thinking of all the plane rides and media handlers, the lack of food and sleep, different hotels almost every night, and the constant demand to be “on” at book signings was draining. 

But there were bigger worries. He’d need to write, and he’d never been very successful at that while on tour. If he didn’t though . . . well, that would be another five weeks nearer to a deadline he’d be no closer to meeting.

He sighed. What a difference three years could make. Three years ago he had walked almost this same path, had crossed the river, sun glinting off the buildings and the bridge rumbling beneath his feet, and had felt that familiar call to adventure, that ache and yearning to put words to paper, to get the story that was growing inside of him out. 

The magic had flowed from his fingertips then. It hadn’t been his first book, but it was the first and only one that had felt alive as he wrote it, that had pushed and pulled and clawed its way to the page, taking a part of him with it. He supposed it made sense. Victor Nikiforov’s novel that year had left him raw, and years of feelings and words had finally coalesced in his mind so inextricably Yuuri didn’t know where one ended and the other began as they spilled on to his screen. 

It had earned Yuuri his first Nebula nomination when it was published last year. He remembered his excitement, the heady realization that maybe he’d finally put something into the world worthy of recognition, that he could finally meet his idol on the same stage.

Well, expectations are one thing and reality is another. 

At the corner of State and Jackson, Yuuri stopped in a crowd of evening tourists at the red light, hands in his pockets, and stared into the distance. The metal owls mounted on the roof of the massive library a street away stared unsympathetically back, their talons glinting in the setting sun.

He really shouldn’t be out. No, he should be taking advantage of his last day at home to force out the highest word count possible. If he wasn’t going to quit, he had to push through. But he didn’t know how. What came out on the screen looked nothing like the images in his head. The music in his mind wouldn’t translate to the page anymore. 

The light turned and he crossed, only distantly aware of the flapping green awnings of the DePaul Barnes & Noble at the corner until a sign in the bookstore’s window stopped his feet at the same moment it jolted his heart. 

> _Join One Book, One Chicago and DePaul University on July 20, 2019 as we welcome acclaimed science fiction and fantasy author Victor Nikiforov. Nikiforov is the winner of numerous awards, including the Nebula, Hugo, and National Book Awards, and is only the second author to win the Newbery and Carnegie medals for the same work. Doors to the Cindy Pritzker Auditorium, Harold Washington Library Center, open at 6:00 p.m. Seating is first come, first serve. Reading & Conversation: 6:00 – 7:00 p.m. / Book Signing: 7:00 – 7:30 p.m. Books available for purchase at the DePaul Center Barnes & Noble and in limited quantities at the event._

Yuuri stared. Read and re-read the words. His heart thumped uncomfortably and the quivering energy that had begun to dissipate returned in force. July 20th was today. He glanced at his watch. 7:13 p.m. 

Victor Nikiforov was here. In Chicago. Less than a block away. Yuuri was too late to hear the presentation, but if he went now, he might still catch a glimpse and leave before being noticed. If he was noticed, which was doubtful. 

Yuuri let out a wavering sigh. What was the point? 

But his feet carried him to the library’s doors anyway, which opened with a soft swoosh and a blast of chilled air. A sign near the front directed guests toward the event, but Yuuri lingered where a table labeled ‘New Releases’ had seized his attention. There, with only four other books separating them, lay Victor Nikiforov’s latest novel on the same table as Yuuri’s. 

A year ago, the sight might have sent a frisson of happy excitement through him. But Victor Nikiforov was a god in the literary world who probably couldn’t put two wrong words together if he tried. In reality, Yuuri knew, they were worlds apart. 

With what had become a familiar pang, Yuuri finally walked past the table and across the lobby toward the first floor auditorium, where a small crowd trickled out of the theater’s doors. 

“Sir, the event is just ending,” someone from the library said.

“I know, I’ll just be a minute,” Yuuri murmured as he hurriedly slid past the exiting fans and through the wide doors into the lush, red-carpeted auditorium. But as soon as he had squeezed past the last group, he could do nothing but stop and stare, transfixed. 

Victor Nikiforov, gifted, charming, larger than life, was seated at the edge of the stage listening to a few lingering fans who stood before him. After a moment, with a media-ready smile and a flip of his iconic silver-blond hair, he launched into a response, light Russian accent rolling off his tongue. 

At this distance, and through the din of conversation as guests ushered out, Yuuri could catch only a word here and there, but it didn’t stop his eyes from lingering. 

For on top of every other brilliant thing about him, he was still so beautiful it ached. It was impossible not to stare at those perfect features and straight jaw, at the fitted tan v-neck that revealed his hard chest and collarbones and the line of his throat–

“Yuuri Katsuki?” The sound of his name pulled Yuuri from his reverie with a disorienting jolt, and before he could find his bearings, his view was blocked by a surly looking blond teenager. “Are you kidding me?” the kid said. “What are you doing here?” 

“Um . . .” Yuuri stared with confusion into flashing green eyes. His eyebrows furrowed. That scowl looked vaguely familiar. “Can I help you? Do we know each other?”

“Seriously?” The kid crossed his arms and huffed. “Yuri Plisetsky? The Book Tiger?” Each question was punctuated with a look of surprised disdain at Yuuri’s blank expression. “We met last year at the Nebulas. You don’t remember?”

Yuuri’s eyes widened and then narrowed. “The blogger?” 

“And author,” he bit out and then asked again, “what are you doing here?”

This was happening, apparently. He was being interrogated by a child. “I was passing by. What are _you_ doing here?”

“I belong here, unlike you.” 

Yuuri stared. Who did this kid think he was? If anyone had an embargo on Victor Nikiforov, it certainly couldn’t be this glorified book-report writer. Yuuri tried to peer around him, but the other Yuri moved to keep his view blocked. 

Meanwhile, with every minute, the theater was emptying. At this rate, they’d either be kicked out or worse, noticed by Victor Nikiforov himself. Well, it didn’t matter. Yuuri had seen what he’d come for. “Listen, I don’t know what problem you have with me but there’s nothing I can do about it. So, if you’ll excuse me.” Yuuri turned back toward the doors, already stewing with regret over this evening. 

But Yuri wasn’t done with him, rushing around to block his path again. “Seriously, what was up with that ending? Do you really expect me to believe that you killed your main character off 60% of the way into the series? There’s no way Toshi’s dead. And there’s no way Jun would have betrayed him like that.”

That's what this was about? His damn book? With the twitch of a smirk now on his lips, Yuuri cocked an eyebrow and crossed his arms. “I would have never guessed it mattered that much to you.”

Yuri kicked at the floor and his face contorted. “It doesn’t, so you can wipe that smile off your face. I—”

“If that’s all then, I’ll be going,” Yuuri interrupted, sharp-edged, and shifted to walk out. 

He should have known it wouldn’t be that easy.

“Yuuri?”

Yuuri froze. It was a voice he had heard in countless interviews and acceptance speeches, and once before, even spoken directly to him. He would have known it anywhere. 

Heart pounding against his ribs, he turned, bracing himself. But the intense blue eyes he expected to meet weren’t looking his way. No, Victor Nikiforov’s attention was turned solely toward the other Yuri. 

“Are you almost finished?” Yuri asked. 

Realization hit, and mortification followed with a wave of heat to his face. Victor Nikiforov was a living legend. A genius. An author who at barely thirty years old had reinvented the fantasy genre. He didn't know who Yuuri was. Had never known who he was. Of course he meant the other Yuri. Somehow this obnoxious blogger really did belong here, and Yuuri really _really_ didn’t. 

Embarrassed and deflated, Yuuri turned away. But the movement must have caught Victor’s notice because he met Yuuri’s gaze, and the transformation of his face, eyes widening and lips parting in surprise before curving into a slow smile, was something Yuuri didn’t think he’d ever forget. 

“Wow, this is unexpected. Yuuri Katsuki?” 

Yuuri’s breath stopped. “Uh . . . yeah?” 

“What are you doing here? You weren’t here for the book signing, were you?”

Yuuri’s jaw tightened. He could tell the question had been asked with curiosity, but annoyance and frustration still crept at the edges of his brain. “No, I live here.”

Victor’s smile spread as he looked around and then back to Yuuri. “Here? Wow.”

“No, not here, I mean. . . ” Yuuri’s face burned. What the hell, Yuuri? “I live in Chicago. I was on my way home.” He glanced in the direction of the doors. “And I should probably get going.” 

“Oh.” Victor’s expression dimmed. “You don’t have to go so soon, do you? I’ll be finished here in just a few minutes.” 

“Uh, I . . .” Yuuri trailed off, at a loss. It was all he could do to keep eye contact. Using his words was really asking too much. 

Victor then smiled again, easy and charming, his eyes alight. “Why don’t you wait a few minutes, and we can go somewhere and grab a drink. Or dinner. Let’s get dinner.” 

“Dinner?” Yuuri blinked, not quite sure he understood. Did Victor think he was someone else? Was he bored? From beside him, an almost inhuman grumble came from Yuri. “Really, I wouldn’t want to impose," Yuuri protested. "I’m sure you probably have a lot to do, so—”

“He does!” Yuri interrupted, his voice laced with anger. And turning to Victor, he glowered. “You promised to give me notes on my last chapter tonight! Or did you forget?”

Victor turned away and Yuuri seized on the interruption to focus on his own breathing. Had Victor Nikiforov just asked him out? How did he even remember Yuuri’s name?

Meanwhile, Victor looked at the other Yuri and his lips quirked. “Did I?” His absently innocent tone seemed perfectly calculated to send Yuri into a blind rage.

It had the expected effect. “Is something wrong with you?” Yuri practically growled the question. “You only promised like two hours ago!”

Before Victor could answer, Yuuri spread his hands out before him in an attempt to placate. “Listen, I don’t want to intrude on your evening. Really. I think I’ll just . . .”

Two pairs of eyes turned his way.

“Don’t be silly,” Victor said, and unbelievably, stunningly, his smile somehow became more disarming. “I’m not at all busy this evening,” he assured. He then ruffled the other Yuri's hair. “And don’t pay attention to Yura here. He shows his love with rage, don't you Yura?” Yuri scowled and swiped Victor’s hand away.

“That is, unless _you_ have something else planned for tonight?” Victor’s smile returned to Yuuri and crooked a little at one corner, as if he somehow knew Yuuri had nothing else planned other than lying in bed and staring at his ceiling while thinking about maybe getting up to write. 

Yuuri’s eyes blazed and he tilted his chin up to meet Victor’s gaze. He wished he knew what to say to turn this evening to his control. The perfect response that would somehow make Victor the one stammering and swooning.

Not for the first time, Yuuri wondered how he could write confident, seductive heroes but have absolutely no ability to fake being one in real life. Because really, what kind of cruel fate was it to know exactly what his characters would do or say in any given situation—to know the darkly smoldering glance of the warrior from atop his horse as he looked at the man he wanted, or how the beautiful seductress would woo the handsome playboy—but not be able to replicate it in his own life?

Yuuri tried to picture himself in a world of his own creation, imagined the library pillars shimmering as a sparkling veneer of marble crept over their surfaces and an ink-dark sky split a crack through the ceiling to spill starlight over the edges. What would Toshi do here? 

Yuuri might have known, if he’d had a keyboard and an empty screen in front of him. But standing there, before the man who’d been his literary hero for as long as he’d been writing, his mind was a blank page and the imaginary trappings of the fantasy world around him crumbled and faded. 

He opened his mouth to utter another polite decline, but stopped again before any words came. 

Why not say yes? God, he’d felt like hell for so long now. He’d ridiculed and blamed and tortured himself and for what? Nothing had come out of it but a bad novel and worse anxiety. He was tired of it. So so tired of it.

And next to wishing he had never met Victor Nikiforov in person in the first place, Yuuri had spent the last year yearning for something like this. A second chance. Another opportunity to prove he really did deserve to occupy the same bookshelves as Victor. But that wasn’t what this was. This wasn’t a second chance to meet Victor as an equal. This was showing up and looking like just another fan—again. 

Even so, Yuuri knew that Toshi would say yes. And if Yuuri’s character could say it, surely Yuuri could too, couldn’t he?

“Yeah, ok,” Yuuri said, looking Victor in the eyes. “Dinner sounds fine.”

Victor grinned. “Great!” 

“Seriously?” Yuri asked, his face an accusing shade of red as he glared at Victor. “You’re really pretending you don’t remember your promise to me?”

Victor faced Yuri again. “Who said anything about pretending? If you want my opinion, you can come to dinner too.”

“What?!” he exclaimed, before jerking a glance toward Yuuri. “I’m not eating dinner with him.”

“Why not?” Victor appeared to be enjoying himself entirely too much. “We can both give you notes.” 

This time it was Yuuri’s turn. “What?”

Yuri’s face whipped toward him. “Don’t worry, I don’t need your notes!” he snapped. “And you don’t have to come you know.”

Yuuri looked from Yuri to Victor. For whatever reason, this god of a man wanted to have dinner with him. Yuuri couldn't guess what stars had aligned to make this improbable turn of events possible, but he wasn’t about to miss out. 

“No, I’m coming,” he said, smiling sweetly at Yuri, who scoffed and turned away.

“Good.” Victor beamed. “I just have to wrap things up here, and we can get going.”

Victor walked back toward the stage where he spoke to a few people who were apparently with his entourage, while Yuri crossed his arms and sulked. Staring at the otherwise empty theater, the reality of the situation struck him and Yuuri momentarily wondered if he shouldn’t try to make his escape after all when the auditorium doors were closed and he was effectively shut in. Too late for that now.

“Ready?” Victor’s voice pulled Yuuri’s attention from the doors and his heart sped again as he met Victor’s eyes. Yuuri mumbled some kind of agreement, and then they were led by a staff member through a door beside the stage, past what appeared to be changing rooms, and to a back exit out of the library. 

“So where are we going?” Victor asked when the wall of muggy July heat hit them.

Yuuri glanced at Victor, eyebrows furrowed. “Where do you want to go?”

“I’ve never been to Chicago. I have no idea. Any good Mexican food? Or maybe Italian?”

“Oh my god, old man,” Yuri grumbled. 

But Yuuri smiled. “How about Japanese? There’s a place on Clark that makes a decent katsudon.”

“Katsudon?” Victor asked. “I’ve never tried it.”

“Oh? Well, you’re in for a treat. But I have to warn you.” Yuuri took on his most professorial voice. “Try it once and it will ruin you for all other foods.”

“How can I say no to that?” Victor’s gaze focused unerringly on Yuuri and his voice, low and unexpectedly intimate, traveled like a shiver down Yuuri's spine. “Lead the way.”

Yuuri could only stutter out a confused “oh, yeah, sure” and look away. But then Victor’s fingers came to rest at the small of his back, and all focus fled to that one burning spot on his skin.

* * *

The restaurant was less than half a mile away, but Yuuri was sure those few minutes would end up being the longest of his life. He had no idea what to say to Victor, much less a Victor who was showing him an inexplicable amount of flirtatious attention.  


Yuuri couldn’t make sense of it. Was Victor just looking for a distraction? He hated to think so, but what else could it be? Meanwhile, Yuri trailed behind them and one glimpse back was enough to see that he was still sulking.  


“So, congratulations,” Yuuri tried. “‘Stay Close to Me’ has been getting good reviews.” He figured it was as safe a line of conversation as any. There was little chance Victor knew that Yuuri had a new book out too.  


He stole a glance at Victor and was surprised to see a momentary grimace cross his face. But it was gone before Yuuri could be sure and replaced by a tight smile.  


“You know how it is—the critics don’t know anything,” Victor said with a wave of his hand before turning his head to glance behind him as he walked, “isn’t that right, Yura?”  


Yuri grunted. “Why don’t you watch where you’re going, old man.”  


Victor flashed a quick grin, before glancing back down at Yuuri. “For example, I think the critics are completely wrong about ‘Blade of Ice.’”  


Yuuri almost tripped over the sidewalk. His eyes widened. “What . . . . how do you . . .” He trailed off. How did Victor know the title of his latest book, much less the reviews it was getting? This was so embarrassing.  


But Victor didn’t seem to notice Yuuri’s distress, or didn’t care. “I mean, I see what’s wrong with it, but none of the critics do. They’re idiots, and honestly, they’ve all done you a huge disservice by picking on a million little things that aren’t actually wrong with it because they can’t figure out what is.”  


Yuuri wanted to sink through the ground. Of all the people who thought his book sucked, the last person he wanted to hear it from was Victor Nikiforov. Besides, Yuuri was pretty certain he already knew what was wrong with his book.  


“You’ve read it?” Yuuri managed to ask. “How?”  


“Oh, Yura had an arc from your publisher and I couldn’t wait for the release.”  


Right, he’d forgotten that Yuri must have had an advance reading copy of his book to have a review out on it so soon, but why had it interested Victor? Apparently, Victor's ability to surprise with his writing carried over to his day-to-day interactions too because this evening was turning out to be one mortified surprise after another.  


“Why?” Yuuri persisted. “Had you read everything else out there already?”  


“Of course not,” Victor said with a half-chuckle. “I’ve read everything you’ve written. At least everything published.”  


Yuuri came to a complete halt. This was not reality. Facing Victor, he said, “There’s no way you’ve read everything I’ve written.”  


Surprise flitted across Victor’s face, and Yuri of the perpetual scowl stopped short and looked around. “What, are we here?”  


Yuuri ignored him.  


“It _was_ a bit tough to find your first book,” Victor said. “You should really talk to your publisher about getting it back in print because it was an excellent debut, and now that your writing is getting more recognition, I think it—”  


Yuuri almost choked. “What?” he interrupted. “I mean, no, no one would want to read that. But you . . . why . . . what made you . . . wait—”  


“Hey dumbass, you’re short-circuiting,” Yuri muttered.  


Yuuri glanced at him and then back at Victor before running his hands through his hair and walking forward again. The other two fell in step with him. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I’m surprised is all.”  


“Hmm,” Victor said, barely audible, a finger against his lips. “I don’t know why you would be.”  


Yuuri was spared any kind of answer as they reached the restaurant, and once seated, he continued to avoid all meaningful conversation by burying his head in the menu. Unfortunately, after the server had left with their katsudon orders, he had no buffer.  


“So, Yuuri,” Victor said, leaning his elbow on the table. “You’re from Japan, right? What brought you to Chicago? Are you seeing someone here?”  


“What? No! I came here for school and just stayed.”  


Victor smiled. He did that a lot, Yuuri realized. But the one now directed at him was softer than any Yuuri had ever seen through a computer screen. “What did you study?”  


“Sports psychology,” Yuuri mumbled as the drinks arrived.  


“Wow, really?” Victor asked. “What made you choose that?”  


“I don’t know, in case the writing thing doesn't work out.” He toyed with the wrapper of his straw. “Athletes can be pretty messed up so I thought it would be an interesting field to go in to.” He glanced up and found that same soft smile on Victor’s face. “And I’ve also known a few athletes and dancers; I figured I could fall back on the major if I need to.”  


“You know, I wondered if you had some kind of background in dance after reading your fairy novel.”  


Yuuri put his head in his hands. “You read that too? Oh god, that’s so embarrassing.”  


“Why? It was good. I liked it,” Victor said. “And I know for a fact that Yura did too.” With this, he threw a smirk Yuri’s way.  


Yuri threw an ice cube back. Victor ducked and it went skidding across the floor and under the table behind them. Yuuri just stared. Victor had liked that book?  


“Shut up. You don’t know anything,” Yuri grumbled, now fishing in his backpack.  


But facing Yuuri again, Victor only picked up where he had left off. “So do you have a favorite animal?”  


“Dogs, of course,” Yuuri answered warily. “What’s with all the questions?”  


“I’m curious.” Victor propped himself on his elbow again. “I want to know everything about you.”  


“Why? There’s really not much to tell," Yuuri said quickly. "You’re the interesting one.”  


“How would you know? You haven’t asked me anything.”  


Yuuri smiled and turned away. “Ok, then.” If this was his opportunity to quiz his idol, he’d better take it. “You live in New York right? What brought you there from Russia?”  


“My publisher and editor are in New York. It was easier.”  


“Ok, most unusual hobby.”  


Victor put a finger to his lips, eyes contemplative.  


“Do you even have any hobbies?” Yuri asked and folded his arms, but his lips curved slightly.  


“Well here's one,” Victor finally said, ignoring Yuri. “I beta-read fanfiction. Does that count?”  


Yuri sputtered beside him and Yuuri grinned. “Really? How did you get into that?”  


“I was looking for something to do one day and stumbled upon it. It turns out I like coaxing potential out of budding authors.” He smiled. “Ok, my turn again.”  


Fortunately, Yuuri was spared by the arrival of the food. "I really hope you like it," he said, and Victor’s excited expression almost made Yuuri’s suffering during the wait worth it.  


“I’m sure I will,” Victor assured, and dug in with chopsticks like he’d been using them his entire life. “Vkusno!” he exclaimed with unmasked delight a few bites in. Even Yuri seemed like he was enjoying it, despite attempts to appear otherwise.  


“Vkusno? What does that mean?” Yuuri asked over the rim of his sake glass.  


Before Yuuri knew what was happening, Victor slid one of his hands along the edge of the table and slowly leaned into Yuuri’s space. “Delicious,” he murmured with the barest hint of a smile, those blue eyes locking Yuuri in place.  


“Oh.” Yuuri’s lips parted. “I . . .”  


“Hey!” Yuri shouted.  


Yuuri startled and they both turned toward Yuri, whose expression radiated anger.  


“Enough already! You’re supposed to be reading my stuff!”  


“Yeah, yeah.” Victor leaned back. “Hand it over.”  


Yuri pushed his tablet into Victor’s hands and crossed his arms. Yuuri downed the rest of his sake and signaled for their server. He would definitely need another.  


But watching Victor immerse himself in Yuri’s writing and listening to his comments was fascinating and awoke in Yuuri a masochistic desire to actually know Victor’s opinion on what was wrong with his own book.  


“We talked about this last time and you’re still not getting it. You should kill this entire passage here,” Victor said after a few minutes. “And rework this one.”  


“What passages?” Yuri leaned over. “Really? What’s wrong with them? I spent so much fucking time on that.”  


“There’s no heart. No emotion. It’s lazy writing. It’s obvious. How many books do you read a year? I know you would eviscerate writing like this in one of your reviews if you read it from someone else.”  


“What are you even talking about?” Yuri sputtered. “It’s full of emotion. My characters are emoting all over the goddamned page.”  


“But are you? Your characters seem to be feeling a lot of things, but nothing they’re feeling makes me feel anything. People read to experience their own emotions. If you can’t emotionally connect to your characters, you’ll never create an authentic emotional experience for anyone else.”  


“What am I doing wrong?” Yuri groaned. “Can’t you give me some actual advice?”  


“Why don’t you start by surprising your readers? Have you thought about that? What line would your protagonist never cross? Force them to cross it. What could they not bear to lose? Take it away. Push them to the limits and then make it even worse. But none of that will work unless you can feel every emotion they would experience as you’re writing it, not just the obvious ones.” Victor handed the tablet back and picked up his chopsticks. “And the only way I know of to do that is to find it on your own.”  


Yuri jammed the tablet into his bag. “Ok, then. Do you have any suggestions on how I might go about finding it, whatever ‘it’ is?” His voice was little more than a growl at this point.  


Victor raised his eyebrows. “Go live some more. Then write about it.”  


Yuri’s expression contorted in what looked like helpless frustration. “So wait till I’m grown up? That’s your advice?” He threw a glower at Yuuri. “I’m eighteen. Katsuki published his first book at eighteen and I’m sure I’ve lived more than he had then.”  


“If you’re sure about that, then tap into it and put it in words,” Victor said simply.  


Yuri hunched over and stabbed his food with his fork.  


Yuuri felt a pang of empathy. He’d never, at least until recently, struggled with feeling his characters’ emotions—if anything, he had always felt too much for his own health—but he _had_ battled with the technical aspect of writing more than he thought he should. He knew the hair-pulling frustration of wrestling one’s brain for the perfect word, of knowing exactly how something should sound but being unable to get it on paper. Words had power, he knew, and the search for the right ones, in just the right order to move the world a bit, exhausted him.  


Watching Yuri chew in gloomy silence, he wanted to say something but figured anything he’d come up with would only result in an explosive response, so he let it go.  


“So how many more cities do you have?” Yuuri asked between bites.  


“Ten," Victor answered. "We’re driving to Milwaukee tomorrow and then flying to Minneapolis after that.”  


“I wish I had Milwaukee this time,” Yuuri said. “And only ten cities left. I’m in Austin tomorrow.”  


“Oh, you’re on a tour too?” The way Victor’s eyes sparkled and his smile widened made Yuuri’s stomach feel light. “We’ll have to compare locations. I know most authors these days think they’re pointless wastes of money—”  


“—They are,” Yuri grumbled around a mouthful of fried pork.  


“—but I like seeing so many people,” Victor continued. “You must like them too, if you’re doing so many cities.”  


Yuuri barely contained a laugh at the absurdity of that assumption. “No, not at all. It’s my publisher. Honestly, for me, they’re just nightly opportunities that force me to embrace the constant threat of humiliation and the fear of saying something catastrophically stupid.”  


Victor stared for a second with a confused half-smile on his face. Maybe that had been a bit too honest, Yuuri thought, and stuffed another bite into his mouth to avoid saying anything else.  


“I don’t know why. I can’t imagine you being anything but great at them.” Victor said, his smile softening. “Do you want to share your itinerary? Maybe we can meet up again.”  


Almost choking on his drink, Yuuri coughed and set the glass down. “Um, really?” But Victor had already pulled his phone out and was scrolling through his own schedule. Yuuri’s stomach felt like it had grown wings.  


But later, after discovering that they didn’t, in fact, share any of the same tour dates, after convincing Yuri to talk, if not about his own book, at least the ones he was currently reading and hating, and after sharing a green tea mochi ice cream, Yuuri had resigned himself to saying goodbye.  


When the server brought the check, Victor reached for it first and without thinking, Yuuri stopped him with a hand on his wrist. “No, let me.”  


“I’m the one who asked, I should pay,” Victor insisted.  


“But I’m the one who suggested the restaurant. It’s the least I could do.”  


With a scrape of his chair, Yuri stood and tossed a twenty-dollar bill on the table. “I’ll be outside when you morons are ready.”  


They were both briefly distracted but Yuuri noticed first, and with a smile that held a tiny bit of triumph, he snatched the check folder from Victor’s hand and slid his credit card in. Victor reached for it, but Yuuri held it over his head and grinned when the server took it. “Too late.”  


“Yuuri,” Victor said in an adorably pleading voice that Yuuri wished he could hear again and again.  


But as quickly as Yuuri's smile came, it faded. “It’s the least I can do . . . ” he began, looking down at the remains of the melting ice cream before glancing up and meeting Victor’s eyes again. “Tonight was a lot of fun, so I guess it’s my way of saying thank you.”  


“Oh,” Victor's face sobered too. “Are you saying you have to go? I thought we might see more of the city. Is it too late for that?”  


“I . . . you have an early start tomorrow, don’t you?” Yuuri asked, surprised.  


“Not so early.” Victor hesitated. “But if you need to go—”  


“No,” Yuuri interrupted quickly. And for the first time tonight, he realized how badly he didn't want the night to end. Tentatively, he said, “I mean . . . I don’t have to go just yet."

"Oh, that's good." Victor smiled, and Yuuri hoped the heat on his cheeks wasn't visible. 

Unfortunately, he had no idea where to take Victor. Five years of living inside his own head had apparently not been conducive to discovering the strange or little-known gems in the city. "Is there anything you really want to see?" 

"No," Victor said, casual confidence back in place. "I'll leave it entirely up to you."

"Ok, well, where are you staying? I’m sure there’s something interesting between here and there.”  


“At . . . oh, I don’t remember the name of it.” Victor frowned. “Let me check.” He fished his phone out and tapped the screen a few times. “Here, it’s at 203 Wabash avenue. Do you know it?”  


“North or South Wabash?” Yuuri asked. “Oh, wait, is that the hotel with the dance club on the roof?”  


Victor smiled. “I don’t know, is it?”  


“Yeah, I know where it is.” Yuuri stood and pocketed his credit card and the receipt. At least he’d have that memento of the evening. He could use it as a bookmark until it was yellowed and faded just like the memory. “I’ll take you to Millennium Park then. But I have to tell you it’s a very touristy thing to do.”  


“That sound’s perfect.” And like most of his smiles tonight, the grin that spread over Victor's face was one Yuuri had never seen before.

* * *

“Woah, creepy,” Yuri said as he snapped a photo of the fifty-foot high digital face spouting a stream of water in Millennium Park. 

Yuuri hummed a noncommittal noise of assent from beside him while Victor darted ahead for a selfie with the brick and granite monstrosities. Yuuri watched him splash his way around screaming children and smiled. He was so different from the Victor of book bios and interviews. Silly, generous, mortifyingly blunt . . . but real. 

Meanwhile, despite the steamy weather, Yuri shoved his hands into his pockets, and an increasingly awkward silence ensued. Yuuri was about to pull his own phone out for the pretense of looking occupied when Yuri muttered, “I really don’t know what all that channeling my emotions garbage was back there. Victor hasn’t felt anything for awhile and his writing hasn’t suffered.” 

Yuuri raised his eyebrows and glanced from Victor to Yuri. Was that true? “What are you talking about?” 

“Just what I said.” Yuri scowled and did a mocking impression of Victor's voice. “Go out and ‘find it.’ What does that even mean?” 

Yuuri let him stew in his own frustration for a minute before asking, “So how do you two know each other?” 

“My dad’s his editor. I’m spending a couple weeks on the book tour.” He scuffed the tip of one shoe against the ground and scoffed. “But the life of an author is not as glamorous as I thought it was.” 

“You’re just now learning that?” Yuuri couldn’t help a smile. “I hope you didn’t start writing because you were aiming for a celebrity lifestyle.” 

“No. But I did think the summer would be more fun. Victor's too bummed-out all the time though. He can be pretty lame.” 

Yuuri frowned. “Book tours are never fun,” he said. “Although it must be nice for Victor to have a friend around. You know, and not be surrounded by strangers all the time.” 

Yuri glanced up at him before looking quickly away. “Yeah, maybe.” 

“So did you get into writing because of your dad?” 

Yuri snorted and rolled his eyes. “No.” 

"Hmm," Yuuri said, and after a while, “so why did you?” 

There was nothing but silence for so long that Yuuri was sure he wouldn't get an answer when Yuri finally spoke. “I don’t know. I spent a lot of time growing up with my grandpa. He liked to read but couldn’t see really well. So I would read to him . . . I suppose I thought he might like to read something I wrote too.” 

Yuuri didn’t say anything and for a while they both stared silently out at the reflecting pool, and the horrendous human-faced fountains, and at Victor taking pictures of the night sky. But after a minute, Yuri ran the back of a hand across his eyes and looked up at Yuuri. “Hey, I’m going to head back to the hotel, ok? I think . . . I’ll work on some of Victor’s notes while I can still remember that nonsense.” 

“Sure,” Yuuri said. 

Yuri walked off but had only taken a few steps when he stopped to glance over his shoulder. “Oh, hey Katsudon.” 

Yuuri’s eyebrows climbed. “Katsudon?” 

“Yeah. Having two Yuri’s in the industry would be a bit confusing, don’t you think?” 

He smiled. “Sure, I guess it would be.” 

“Anyway, don’t make me wait another two years again for your next book. I mean, seriously? You have nothing else to do all day but write.” 

“I’ll do what I can,” Yuuri said, one corner of his lips quirking up. 

"Good." And with a quick jerk of his head, Yuri turned and walked away. 

The smile on Yuuri’s face was still there when he turned toward the fountain again and found Victor approaching. Slightly out of breath and pushing his hair out of his eyes, Victor looked around and said, “where’s Yura?” 

“He said he was going back to the hotel. I think he found his emotion.” 

“Oh?” Victor grinned. “About time.” 

Yuuri grinned too. “But that means you’re stuck with just me for the rest of this completely deficient guided tour. I feel kind of bad actually. I really should be taking you to some late-night art house cinema or a tiny jazz club that’s not in any of the guidebooks.” 

“I can assure you the tour hasn’t been lacking at all." 

“Really?” Yuuri stole an uncertain glance as they started walking. 

“Really," said Victor, and the look in his eyes made Yuuri's heart constrict. "I can already tell I love this city.” 

Yuuri blushed. "I'm glad." 

They walked on toward the park’s garden maze, which was almost deserted at this late hour. It wasn’t really a maze, in the true sense, but with its fifteen-foot-high hedges that muffled the sounds of the city, it almost felt like one. Now, beneath the darkening sky, as the lights of the city twinkled on around them and the stars shone above their heads, it seemed full of magic and possibility. 

“Besides,” said Victor, his voice hushed between the soft rustle of ferns and magnolias at their sides, “I think there’s a strange kind of unregulated magic in places like this, if you know where to look, don’t you?” 

Yuuri had read everything Victor had written. Knew he was someone who saw the world with wonder too. But hearing his words, and falling into eyes that were such a deep blue Yuuri was sure he would either find himself in them or drown, it felt like he was seeing a part of Victor that had been hidden when Yuri was around. 

“Yeah,” he said. “Some of my biggest bursts of creativity used to come after walking through the busier areas of the city. Seeing people, hearing conversations coming out of bars and little music dives, just wandering, finding the magic things those people missed.” 

“And now?” Victor asked. His knuckles gently grazed Yuuri’s as they walked and Yuuri suddenly yearned to give into the pull, to take Victor's hand and intertwine their fingers. 

“Now?” 

“You said your creativity used to come from walking though these kinds of places. Not anymore?” 

No, not anymore, Yuuri thought. It didn’t come from anywhere anymore. “I just haven’t had the time recently, that’s all.” 

Victor hummed but said nothing as they walked. The end of the park was drawing near, mingled voices and distant laughter flitting in between the leaves, and they both slowed their pace without words. 

“You know, I wondered for so long if I would see you again after the Nebulas,” Victor said. “I hoped I would.” 

Yuuri’s brows furrowed and with a sidelong glance, asked, “What do you mean? Why?” 

“We barely got to say anything when we were introduced at the ceremony. I was looking forward to talking to you afterward, but you left so suddenly." Victor chuckled but there was something under it, something a little sad that Yuuri couldn’t quite pin down. "I asked you something and you actually walked away from me without even acknowledging it. It . . . didn't feel great.” 

Yuuri frowned. “You remember that?” 

“Of course I remember. Why wouldn’t I?” 

“Well, I thought . . .” Yuuri hesitated, confused. Had he read their entire last meeting wrong? “Do you remember what you asked me? You asked if I wanted a commemorative photo.” Yuuri cringed at the memory. “At the time I thought it was pretty clear that . . . well, I thought you didn't remember who I was.” 

Victor's eyes widened. “You thought I didn’t know who you were? I . . . so that’s why you just walked away?” Victor stopped and faced Yuuri. 

“Yeah.” Yuuri stopped too, his eyes fixed on Victor’s face, searching. 

“I only wanted to take a picture with you." Victor looked distressed. "We were nominated in the same category. We had just been introduced a few hours earlier. How could you think I didn't remember you? I know I’m forgetful but I’d like to think it’s not that bad yet. God, you must have really thought I was an awful person.” 

"No!" Yuuri protested. “I've never thought you were awful! Please don't think that! It was me. I didn't think . . ." He trailed off, unsure. His eyes drifted toward the skyline and then back to Victor. Had Victor wanted to know him all this time? It was almost impossible to believe but the eyes that now met his were earnest and no longer belonged to a stranger. "Well, I. I guess I feel like a bit of an idiot now.” 

Victor relaxed. “I feel like one too," he said with a slow smile. "Apparently I can't even put two words together when I'm talking to a cute boy.” 

Yuuri's eyes widened. “What?” 

Victor’s smile became teasing as he let his own gaze wander toward the end of the park path. “It looks like we’ve reached the end of the lane. What do you want to do now?” 

“I don’t know,” Yuuri said with a crooked smirk despite the pounding of his heart. “What are you in the mood for?” 

Victor's finger came up to his lips, which were still curved mischievously. “I hear there’s a dance club on the roof of my hotel.” 

“Is there now? Well, lead the way.” 

* * *

The elevator was empty but for them and as Victor tapped the button for the 26th floor, Yuuri leaned against the narrow rail along the back, steadying his hands along its surface. Any happy anticipation he had felt as they crossed the street and entered the hotel had quickly fizzed into a nervous buzz beneath his skin. 

The elevator started moving, and Victor leaned back against the wall beside him, resting his own hand on the railing next to Yuuri’s. Yuuri tried for a steadying breath. They were so close; one slight move and their hands would graze. He imagined lifting his pinky finger, linking it with Victor’s, their eyes meeting, their hands intertwining, Victor pulling him close . . . 

Yuuri stared straight ahead at the door. Glanced up at the light indicating the floors as they passed. 

Victor shifted, gave Yuuri’s arm a playful nudge with his elbow, and smiled when Yuuri looked up at him. “Hey,” he said. 

Yuuri’s heart hammered and his stomach twisted. “Hey,” he breathed. 

The elevator dinged and a moment later, the doors slid open. They were greeted by a wall of sound and color, of laughing voices and music and thumping bass, and bold blue and green and red strobe lights in the dark. A long bar stretched away on the right and beyond the crowd of people sprawled the lights of the city, golden and sparkling along the dark curve of the river and spread like a blanket of stars at their feet. 

Victor’s eyes reflected the flickering light as he grinned. 

“Let’s get a drink,” Yuuri said, and in a fit of courage, he twined his fingers through Victor’s and pulled him through the press of the crowd toward the bar. A shot of adrenaline spiked in Yuuri’s veins at the touch he had been craving and his heart beat like a drum in his chest. 

“What do you want?” Victor asked when they reached the bar, leaning close to Yuuri so he could be heard. 

“Whatever you’re having,” he answered. Victor gave Yuuri’s hand a squeeze before pulling free to order and Yuuri forced his gaze away to look around. He would need a few drinks to relax, but he could already feel an itch to be out there, moving his body, forgetting himself to the music. 

Yuuri still couldn’t process what he had learned. How was it possible that Victor had recognized Yuuri at the Nebulas, had wanted to talk to him even, to know him? That he had liked Yuuri's writing well enough to read all of it? That he was here, now, and wanted to be here. 

That Yuuri had never been just another nobody to Victor. Yuuri had let that belief infect him for so long that letting it all go now seemed to require a monumental shift in thinking. 

A light squeeze at his elbow pulled his attention back to Victor, who was holding two wine glasses. “Champagne and peach juice,” he said, handing one to Yuuri with a crooked half-smile that was entirely too sexy for Yuuri’s stomach to stay calm. 

“What should we toast to?” Yuuri asked, a little breathless, as he took the glass and tipped it toward Victor’s. 

Victor clinked them together and leaned in. “To new possibilities,” he said, his breath warm. Pulling away, he smiled and brought the glass to his lips, his eyes never leaving Yuuri’s. 

Yuuri’s heart sped as he brought his own drink up to take a sip. He downed half of it instead. “Can you grab me another?” he asked. 

“Of course.” Victor laughed and turned to flag the bartender again. 

Ten minutes later and halfway through his third drink, Yuuri was warm and buzzed. Victor set his own glass down behind them and bent his head to speak low in Yuuri's ear. “Do you want to dance?” 

Over Yuuri's champagne, their eyes met. With one quick motion, Yuuri tilted his head back and finished it, then set the glass down and pulled Victor to the floor. 

The club was wall to wall people, barely any room for two more, but Yuuri led him toward the middle, music and alcohol coursing hot through his veins. Once in a spot where they could move, he turned and was surprised to see unmasked happiness and captivation on Victor’s face. It made him even more beautiful than Yuuri had ever seen him and the sudden burst of dizzying confidence it fueled made Yuuri want nothing more than to pull Victor close and make him never want to look at anyone else that way ever again. 

Someday, he thought, he’d look back on this night and remember the heat in Victor’s gaze as they started to dance, the glide of Victor’s hands at his back and waist, the feel of silver hair through his fingers. Maybe when he looked back, he’d wonder how he had managed to grasp this brilliant perfect moment in time. Tonight, though, all he wanted was to feel. The music and the lights and the nearness of Victor’s body as they moved through song after song, to feel it all. 

“You’re a great dancer,” Victor said, breath warm against Yuuri’s neck, hands sliding around his hips to pull them closer. 

“You are too,” Yuuri breathed as their bodies moved together, not even sure if Victor could hear him. The pulsing lights of the club flickered off Victor's hair, his eyes, the line of his jaw, the curve of his shoulders. 

Turning, pulse pounding, Yuuri ran his hands up Victor’s shirt, over the muscles beneath, and twined his arms loosely around his neck. Victor’s eyes were such a deep searching blue and he couldn’t tear his own away. Wouldn’t. He felt winded, not from the dancing, but from the desire to lean just a little closer, just enough to press their lips together. Instead, feverish and breathless, he let his head fall to Victor’s shoulder. 

He couldn’t tell when one song bled into the next or how many they had danced to, but to him, no time at all had passed before what little space between them had disappeared, his shirt clung damp to his back, and their movements had slowed to a lazy sway in each other’s arms. Yuuri breathed Victor in, his lips almost brushing Victor’s throat. 

Around them, the music pounded and the crowd moved, but his world had narrowed to just him and Victor, to their own cocoon of heat and skin and stuttered breaths, his hips aching to move against Victor's, and Yuuri didn’t ever want the night to end. 

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, Victor leaned closer to Yuuri’s ear. “Want to get out of here?” 

Everything felt hot. The room, Victor’s question, every place their bodies touched. 

“Yeah,” he breathed. He felt Victor’s smile against his skin. 

* * *

Yuuri pulled Victor toward the elevator, grinning, laughing, scattered thoughts, heart beating hard. Victor tapped one of the buttons and then wrapped his arms around Yuuri from behind, nuzzling close. 

Yuuri had no grasp on the feelings burning through him. All he knew was that he was aflame with want, for skin against skin, for tangled sheets, for Victor’s arms and lips, for Victor’s words. For Victor. 

The elevator didn’t have so far to go as it had when they’d come up, and when the doors opened, they walked out, Victor’s arms still around Yuuri, laughing and stumbling, and then Victor was leading him down the hallway while Yuuri clung to his hand and grinned. 

At the hotel room door, it was a momentary wait, a fumble through a pocket, a beep and a whirr, and then he was pulled gently through the doorway and into Victor’s suite. Wide windows spanned the far wall and let in a dazzling starry view of the city but as the door shut behind him, Yuuri had eyes only for Victor. 

They stopped just inside the doorway and in the silence of the room, everything about Victor’s face, the softness of his mouth, the brightness of his eyes, showed unmistakable tenderness. Yuuri wondered, hoped, Victor could see the same in him. Wondered if Victor’s heart and pulse were beating in time with his own. 

“Hi,” Yuuri murmured. 

“Hi,” Victor said, barely above a whisper, as his fingertips came to the edge of Yuuri’s hair and trailed lightly down his jaw. “Want to come in?” 

Yuuri smiled, flushed. “Yeah,” he said, and Victor gave his hand a gentle tug. 

All their hurry was gone as Victor led him into the room and toward the windows, but the heat, the yearning, the desire remained, and Yuuri longed to kiss him, to feel fingers tangled in his hair and warm, urgent lips moving against his. 

They stood at the windows, the city sprawled out before them. Its lights had always given the stars competition and now Yuuri felt as though he were at the center of a universe, surrounded on all sides by a dazzling curve of starlight. Somewhere out there time was passing and galaxies were being born but in here he felt weightless, timeless, breathless. On the edge of something. In that hushed, still moment at the end of a diving board waiting for the nerve to jump. 

In the glass, he could see Victor’s reflection looking at him and eventually, finally, Yuuri turned his head too. His body followed as Victor turned and they faced each other, eyes fixed together. One of Victor’s hands came up to Yuuri’s hair and brushed a loose piece away from his face. His other hand reached out for Yuuri’s, shifting and lacing their fingers together. 

Yuuri’s blood roared in his ears and his heart quickened. The look in Victor’s eyes, the curve of his hand around Yuuri’s jaw, the way their fingers looped together, all told him he was about to be kissed. Was it normal to feel this unsteady, this lightheaded? Could Victor feel him trembling? 

His eyes strayed to Victor’s lips and maybe that’s what pushed Victor to finally lean in, to tighten his fingers so so gently in Yuuri’s hair, to let his lips graze Yuuri’s in the lightest caress, before pressing their mouths together in a kiss that was tentative and gentle and hungry all at once. 

Yuuri had dreamed about kissing Victor. For years before this night, for hours before this moment, and it had never been quite like this. And yet this was perfect. 

He wanted to lose himself in it, in the sensations of Victor’s lips and hands on him, but after one dazzling second, all he could feel was a nauseous tightness in his stomach and chest. The room closed in. Lights refracted and danced at the corners of his eyes. His heart pounded, erratic. 

With a sharp gasp, Yuuri tore himself away and out of Victor’s hold. He inhaled a gulp of air and then another and another. He ran his hand through his hair, and at the look of sudden worry in Victor’s eyes, he turned away and leaned his forehead against the cool pane of the window, breath ragged. 

“Yuuri?” Victor asked, his voice containing all the alarm that Yuuri had just seen in his face. “What’s wrong? Did I do something?” 

Yuuri couldn’t answer. He couldn’t think. All he could do was suck in one rough breath after another. 

"Yuuri, look at me if you can.” Victor’s voice had lost its worried edge and was calm, authoritative. But Yuuri couldn’t look. Mortification was slowly replacing the tightness in his chest. Victor’s voice continued on beside him anyway. “Ok, just breathe with me then. Can you do that? Take a deep breath. Hold it for four, three, two, one. Now breathe out." 

Yuuri listened to his voice, his steady counting, and eventually started breathing in time with it. The window against his forehead was cool, and he focused on the damp feel of the glass. Opening his eyes, he stared for a long time down at the tiny cars driving along the tiny streets twenty stories below. 

God, what was wrong with him? How could he ever face Victor again after this? After what somehow felt like an eternity and no time at all, Yuuri finally dragged himself from the window. 

"How do you feel?" Victor asked after a few seconds of silence. 

Yuuri couldn’t meet his eyes. "I’m fine. It’s . . . I’m fine. It's nothing. I guess dinner didn’t sit with me well.” He tried to laugh it off but didn’t think the choked chuckle that came out was very convincing. “I think I'd better go." 

Victor's face was tinged with worry and disappointment. "Oh . . . ok, yeah. But are you sure you're ok?" 

"Yes, everything's fine,” Yuuri said, more forcefully this time, willing himself to meet Victor in the eyes. It pained him to think it was probably for the last time but he did his best to harden his heart. “It's just been a long night. Thanks for a fun evening, really. But I should get some sleep." 

"Of course, ok," Victor said and followed him to the door. 

Yuuri sat to tug on his shoes. He should have never agreed to go out to dinner, he thought angrily, frustratingly, his throat tight. He stood and pulled the door open. 

Once in the hall, he turned to face Victor. He hated the concern he saw there. He was fine. Victor didn’t need to worry about him. 

"Listen,” Victor began, hesitating. “I . . . I won't try to make you stay, but please at least tell me if I did something wrong." 

Yuuri felt the tell-tale burning behind his eyes and fought to keep his emotion at bay. 

"No, it wasn't you. You did everything right. Really." 

But Victor persisted. "Was it bringing you here? To my room, I mean. I thought . . . I think I really read things wrong and I’m so sorry for that. The last thing I want is to push you away." 

"No,” Yuuri insisted. “No . . . it's not that. Really, it’s not. Please don't worry about it." 

Victor sighed in obvious frustration. "It’s not exactly an easy thing to do. But if that’s what you want, I suppose there’s nothing else I can do.” He inhaled deeply, his eyes red-rimmed, and Yuuri watched him struggle with his own emotion, remembered the one perfect second of their lips together before everything went to hell, and it took all of Yuuri's internal strength to hold back a choked sob. “I just hope you know I had a great time, Yuuri." 

"Yeah, I did too," Yuuri said, barely audible. He knew the instant those elevator doors closed behind him he would break down and cry. But still he hesitated. Tried to memorize Victor’s face, the dusting of freckles he’d never seen in any photo, the striations of every shade of blue in his eyes, the faintest lines at the corners of his mouth. He didn’t want to ever forget. 

"And please know that I'm really sorry," Victor said again, and the momentary anguish in his expression, there and gone again, stunned Yuuri. "For what I did. I'm sorry." 

No. No. Yuuri squeezed his eyes shut. He imagined walking away. The door closing behind him and shutting Victor in on the other side. Victor blaming himself, never knowing what he’d done wrong, what he could have done differently. Yuuri couldn’t let Victor feel that way. Maybe there was no redeeming the evening but the least he could do was make Victor know that none of this mess was his fault. 

"Please," he said. Pleaded. "It’s not your fault.” And then the tears finally flowed. 

Victor stared in alarm, his hands coming up helplessly, his eyes watery. "Yuuri, I'm sorry." 

"Stop saying you're sorry!" He wiped frantically at his eyes with the back of his hand. “It’s just that . . . I've never done certain things before. And I panicked. I already said that you did nothing wrong! You did everything right. Better than right." 

"Never done what things?" Victor asked, looking worried and desperate for answers. 

Yuuri breathed shakily, pulled himself together, and finally said, his voice calmer, "I've never . . ." But he stopped again and groaned. Victor's eyebrows furrowed with confusion. 

He’d just have to say it and get it over with. "I've never had sex with anyone." The words fell out and it took everything in his power not to look away in humiliation. 

Dawning surprise and realization crossed Victor's face. 

"I'm not saying I expected that,” Yuuri rushed on. “Maybe you weren't even thinking about that with me. But I get like that sometimes. Overthinking things I guess. And anxious. It's my problem, not yours. So please stop thinking you did anything wrong. I’ve admired you for a long time and I hate that you had to see my shortcomings tonight.” 

Unlike Yuuri’s rushed words, Victor’s voice was measured and slow. "Anxiety isn't a shortcoming, Yuuri. Nothing you've told me is a shortcoming. And please know that I never meant to make you feel like something was expected of you. I . . . would be lying if I said I hadn't been thinking about sex with you. I thought you wanted it too though. But that’s not your fault. It's all mine. I just hope you know we don't have to do anything and I’m fine with that. . .You know that right?” 

Yuuri was feeling too much to answer but he nodded faintly. 

Victor seemed like he was gathering resolve of his own, and finally said, “Maybe it’s wrong of me to ask this but if it's at all possible, would you give me a second chance? We can play a board game. Or watch a movie. Or if you don’t want to be alone with me, maybe we could find one of those all-night cafes after all. All I want is to talk to you more." 

Yuuri didn’t respond for a long time but finally quirked a sad smile and raised an eyebrow. "You have a board game here?" 

Victor smiled, some of the tension falling from his shoulders. "No, but I'll make sure to find one in this city if that's what you want to do." 

Yuuri felt tears pool in the corners of his eyes again and looked away. 

Silence fell, and Victor finally said softly, "It’s also ok if you still want to go. I won't be upset if you need to leave." 

Yuuri sniffled and raised his eyes. "No, I don’t have to leave.” He took a deep breath and let it out. “I can come back in, if you're up for a movie.” 

Victor let out a breath of his own, and gave a tentative smile. “I’d really like that.” He then backed up and held the door so Yuuri could enter. Yuuri did. 

* * *

“So where did you learn to deal with someone having an anxiety attack?” Yuuri asked softly, lying on his side on one half of the bed and looking at Victor, who faced him from the other half. 

They’d started a movie, but it was now forgotten in the background, and the pillows Victor had piled down the center of the bed as a barrier between them were back beneath their heads where they belonged. Yuuri had laughed a bit awkwardly at the sight of Victor all but constructing a pillow fort in the center of the bed, but it was Victor’s sweet, if misguided, way of trying to make Yuuri comfortable and Yuuri had let him do it. 

“I researched it for a book but never ended up using it,” Victor said. “Did anything I said actually help you?” 

“It really did,” Yuuri said, and then smiled. “The random things we research for what ends up being fifty words buried in act two, you know?” 

Victor smiled too. “Like how many miles a horse can travel in an hour.” 

“Or if it can outrun a lion.” 

“Or a centaur.” 

“Can it?” Yuuri asked. 

“Depends on whether it’s from Greece or Cyprus.” 

“The horse or the centaur?” 

Victor grinned. “I decided to just give the horse wings.” 

“I did that once and ended up falling into a rabbit hole of wind speed, and weight vs. wing length, and I think I lost at least eight hours just learning how wings work.” 

“We should have consulted. Would have saved so much time,” Victor said. 

“We should have.” Yuuri toyed distractedly with a loose thread on the sheets. “You know, before tonight, I used to think I knew what you were like from reading your characters. Now I see how silly that was.” 

“It’s not silly. You can learn a lot about someone from who they write. Now that I'm getting to know you, I can see so much of you in your writing.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” His eyes took on a mischievous glint. “But now I’m curious, which of my characters are you attracted to the most?” 

Yuuri smirked. “Attracted to? Are you sure you want to know?” 

“Should I be worried?” Victor asked. 

“I don’t know. Depends on what you want to use the knowledge for.” 

“Only noble purposes, I assure you.” Victor grinned. “Now come on, tell me.” 

“Ok,” Yuuri said, his smile softening as he held Victor's gaze. “Then I guess I have to admit that my favorite is this one. The one I’m looking at right now.” 

Pure surprise replaced Victor’s teasing smile. His lips parted, his pupils widened, and Yuuri wondered if he hadn’t actually said something completely wrong, when Victor’s bottom lip quivered and he had to hide his face momentarily in his pillow. “Yuuri,” he finally said, muffled, before meeting Yuuri’s eyes again, his face overspread with happiness. 

So Yuuri slid his hand forward and curled his fingers around Victor’s. 

“I feel it’s only fair to warn you though,” Victor said, his entire face smiling, silver hair splayed across his pillow. “It’s very much a work in progress.” 

Yuuri squeezed their fingers together. He wished he didn’t ever have to let go. 

* * *

“Cookies or potato chips?” Victor asked over his shoulder from the minibar area. 

“Potato chips,” Yuuri said without hesitation. 

A few seconds later, Victor flopped back on the bed with a bounce and handed Yuuri the chips, the cookies in his other hand. “You sure you don’t want room service?” 

Yuuri pushed himself up against the headboard, their shoulders almost touching. “Thanks, and no, this is fine,” he said. “This is actually the perfect midnight snack.” 

Victor opened the cookies and popped one in his mouth. “What time is your flight tomorrow?” 

“Noon.” He hated the reminder. With every hour that passed, the more he dreaded having to say goodbye to Victor. To all this. “What about you? You’re taking a bus to Milwaukee, right?” 

“The others are, but I rented a car so Yura and I can drive there. As long as we're out of the city by one, we'll be fine. You wouldn’t want a ride to the airport, would you?” 

Yuuri would like nothing more. How romantic and domestic and perfect that would be. Would they share a long hug at departures? A kiss? A promise to keep in touch? “Thanks,” he said. “That would have been great actually, but my roommate is already taking me.” Speaking of Phichit, Yuuri should probably message him before he put out a missing persons report. 

"Ok," Victor said, and then, after some hesitation, "I want you to know that I was serious earlier, when I said I hoped we could meet up again."

It caught Yuuri completely off guard. "Oh," he said. 

"I get it if you don't want that," Victor went on. "I don't want you to feel like you have to." 

It bothered Yuuri that Victor was so worried now about overstepping, like he had to tiptoe around him or walk on eggshells. He wanted it to stop. "No, I do want that," he said quickly and possibly a bit too energetically, before Victor could go on. 

Victor was the one caught off guard this time, but he quickly recovered with a smile and the faintest dusting of pink across his nose. "You do?" 

"Yeah," Yuuri said, softer. "I do." 

"Good. I was hoping you'd say that." 

Yuuri blushed. "How would it work though?" 

"I figured we could meet when you're in Seattle, since I'll be in Portland the day before. Or if that doesn't work, I'll just come out when I'm done, since you'll still have almost three weeks left. I could finish out your tour with you." He grinned and waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. "We'll figure it out." 

"Yeah, I guess we will." Yuuri only hoped that he could enjoy the time they had left before Victor inevitably moved on. 

They chewed in silence for a while and Yuuri sank further and further into his head, thoughts a jumbled mess of the future and everything that had happened that night. “Victor, can I ask you something?”

“Of course.” 

“Earlier, you said something that I’ve been thinking about. You said you knew what was wrong with my book and . . . I just wanted to know what you think it is.” 

Victor’s smile was gentle. “What do you think it is?” 

Yuuri groaned and turned his face away. “Never mind.” 

Victor shifted so he could face Yuuri. “No, really. I want to know what you think.” 

Yuuri glanced at him again. He could tell Victor wasn’t trying to embarrass him. He sighed. “Apparently it's the same thing that’s wrong with little Yuri’s writing. I tried to write about something when I haven't found it yet.” Yuuri set the empty potato chip bag on the nightstand and flopped back down on the bed so he could stare up at the ceiling. “I didn’t think it was a big deal. I never had any problem writing things before without personal experience. It's not a damn autobiography.” He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms. “But I guess writing a convincing love story was beyond me.” 

“Everything we write is autobiographical in some way," Victor said, contemplative. "Unless you spill some of your heart’s blood on every page it won't ever be good.” 

Yuuri knew that. Of course he knew that. Some small part of him was in every one of his books. And then he thought about the protagonist of Victor’s latest novel, about the broken shell the character was, and wondered if what Yuri had said earlier about Victor being unable to feel really was true. 

“But it’s not about personal experience, it's about emotion,” Victor went on. “You know as well as I do that you don’t need to know what it’s like to fly on the back of a dragon to write it convincingly. All you need is to know what wonder feels like, or excitement, or fear. I know you can’t write the way you do and not realize that.” 

“I know.” He closed his eyes. “I had so many plans for this book too. Now my readers must all know I’m a fraud.” 

“They couldn’t know something like that," Victor said, "because it’s not true." He shifted back down on the bed too, and propped himself up on one elbow. 

Yuuri turned back on his side to look at him. Victor’s face was so gentle. 

“But I am.” Yuuri really didn't deserve such patience and empathy. “I . . . I haven’t been able to write a single line in over three months.” It was the first time he had admitted it out loud and his eyes burned. “I honestly don’t even know if I'll be able to write again.” 

But for the faint sounds of the movie coming from the tv in the corner, the room fell into silence and Yuuri worried what Victor could be thinking. God, he really shouldn't have said anything. 

"Do you want to write again?" Victor finally asked. 

Yuuri thought about it but he already knew the answer. "I do. It would be nice not to hate everything that comes out. But I really do want to write." 

"Then you will." He said it so matter-of-factly that Yuuri almost rolled his eyes. He supposed Victor's belief in him was reassuring, but Victor couldn't know how hard it had always been for him. 

"You make it sound so easy," Yuuri muttered. "But it's never come easy for me. I've never been like you." 

"You think it's easy for me?" Victor asked, a slight edge to his voice. 

The tone made Yuuri immediately realize he'd said the wrong thing. "I have always thought that," he said, feeling awful. "I'm sorry. It was a stupid assumption." 

"No, it's fine. I'm sure everyone thinks that." A long silence followed in which Yuuri hated himself. The last thing he wanted was to be like every other person who knew nothing of the real Victor. Maybe that stupid cosplay of Phichit's main character would come in handy after all. He could use the skates to stab himself. 

When Victor finally spoke, his voice was barely loud enough for Yuuri to catch. “I haven’t written in awhile either. It's been over six months for me.” 

Yuuri’s eyes widened. “What? Why not?” 

“Writing stopped being for me. For so long now, it’s only been about what I thought people wanted to read. Surprising them over and over. I haven't wanted to write in a long time.” 

The confession rolled through Yuuri and left him shocked. Maybe it was the first time Victor had admitted it too. "What are you planning to do?" 

"I don't know." Victor cushioned his elbow beneath his head and lay down, his eyes falling closed. "I told my publisher last week that I was going on hiatus after this tour. That's as far as I got. I don't know what's next." 

The thought of never reading another word written by Victor was not something Yuuri wanted to contemplate. But the thought of Victor being unhappy, lonely, not even able to find solace in his work, was worse. 

Without thinking, he reached out and pulled Victor into his arms. "We'll figure it out," he said and gathered Victor closer. Victor sunk into the embrace, exhaling against Yuuri’s shoulder and Yuuri felt something new and unfamiliar bloom inside. He held on tighter.

* * *

Yuuri must have fallen asleep because the last thing he remembered were Victor’s arms around him, but as his eyes groggily opened, he realized he was now under a blanket while Victor sat crosslegged beside him, his back against the headboard with a laptop balanced on his thighs. 

The room was dim, lit only by the city outside and the night sky and the glow of Victor’s screen, which cast an ethereal light along the edges of his hair and the line of his jaw and the delicate furrow between his brows. 

He was so beautiful, Yuuri thought, and a happy zing ran beneath his skin at the image of Victor gently placing a blanket over him and tucking it in on all sides. Laying there, Yuuri couldn't tell if he would rather burrow deeper into the pillow and grin, or just pull Victor down and into his arms all over again. 

But as consciousness slowly crept back, it became obvious that Victor wasn’t just looking online or responding to emails. The unbroken rapidity of his fingers across the keyboard made it clear, at least to Yuuri, that he was writing. So, toasty and relaxed, Yuuri did his best to lay as still as possible. Victor was writing, for maybe the first time in six months, and Yuuri wouldn’t have interrupted unless the room was burning. And maybe not even then. 

The soothing tap of keys continued and Yuuri let his eyes close. Every so often, the sound would slow or come to a stop, leaving only the hum of the air conditioning and the distant street noises from the city below, and Yuuri would open his eyes to see Victor peering intently at the screen as his fingers scrolled along the trackpad. 

It was endearing to watch a writing process that seemed, at least on the surface, so similar to his own. He imagined spending afternoons like this, in comfortable silence, while one or both of them wrote, or dreamed, or just curled up together.

A few moments later, Victor’s fingers stilled and he glanced down at Yuuri, his expression soft. Noticing Yuuri awake, he smiled. 

“Hey,” he murmured. 

“Hey,” Yuuri said, just as softly. 

“I’m sorry I woke you.” 

“You didn’t. I’ve been awake for a while, just listening to you write.” And when Victor lifted the laptop off his legs and set it on the nightstand, Yuuri protested. “No, please don’t stop. I don’t want to interrupt.” 

Victor's eyes found Yuuri’s again. “Don’t worry. I was finished for the night anyway.” He reached out and pushed a strand of hair away from Yuuri’s eyes. “I had started to think I’d never write anything creative ever again. It felt good.” 

Yuuri leaned into his touch and wanted now, more than ever, to pull Victor down to him. “What inspired you?” 

Victor's hand stilled along the edge of Yuuri's jaw. “I’m looking at him.” 

Yuuri's lips parted in surprise. 

Victor's gaze held his and something stirred between them.

His own eyes dropped to Victor’s mouth and back up. “Come here,” he whispered. 

Without hesitation, with a sigh that sounded like surrender, Victor came to him, and when his silver lashes fluttered closed and his lips pressed against Yuuri’s in a soft caress, Yuuri was lost. Falling and being caught all at once. 

Pushing the blanket off, he wrapped his arms around Victor and pulled him close. Victor’s kisses were feather-light, his breath warm, each touch of his lips a question and each leaving Yuuri hungry with longing for the next. 

“Victor,” he whispered between kisses, hoping, willing his voice to convey all the want, all the permission for more. He wasn't afraid. He felt the pull gathering hot in his body and he wanted to give in to it, to the warmth coursing through his veins, to everything Victor wanted to give him. 

Victor pulled back, just a fraction, his lips parted and wet, forehead against Yuuri’s, breathing unsteady as he trembled. “Yuuri, we don't have to,” he said, his hand cradling Yuuri’s face while the other splayed hot against his back. 

But Yuuri wanted Victor, wanted him to know it was ok. He had never been good with spoken words; he couldn't whisper a volume of poetry, or speak his want against Victor's skin. Words would only twist themselves into something meaningful or beautiful for him on paper. 

So with Victor here now, in his arms, breathing hard with his own need, Yuuri spoke in the only way he could: by closing the distance between them. The kiss was open-mouthed, urgent, and with a gasp torn from his throat, Victor responded, his lips and tongue finally moving against Yuuri's with his own heat and desperate want. 

After that, with Victor's fingers buried in his hair, Yuuri didn't worry about words, much less poetry. His voice, somewhere between a whisper and a moan as Victor’s mouth trailed a path along his jaw, said everything. 

He let his fingers wander, let them ghost down Victor's chest, beneath his shirt, pushing it out of his way until Victor took the hint and pulled it off. And then his mouth followed where his hands had been and pulled the most delicious choked groans from Victor's lips. 

Maybe it was Victor's own intense desire that fueled Yuuri's desperation, or maybe it was the gentle care and restraint Victor managed to show even as his tongue trailed wet and needy down Yuuri's body. But whatever it was, Yuuri _wanted_. Wanted to put his hands everywhere, wanted to be touched where he never had been before. 

It was all so much more than Yuuri had ever dreamed. All heat and magic and aching need. Hands sliding, caressing, dragging clothes down and off, fingers grasping and clutching until nothing separated them but their own skin and desire, and Yuuri couldn't tell if it was his heart or Victor's hammering against his chest. 

Victor was all-consuming, and maybe Yuuri should have been scared by how much he revealed when Victor looked into his eyes and whispered his name, but Yuuri only wanted to open his heart and mind more. To drink every moment in, to make up for lost time, to pour his feelings into every kiss, every graze of his fingertips, every smile against damp skin, and every slow slide of their bodies, hot and hard, together. 

Victor rocked against him, his movements shuddering. Yuuri's head fell back on the pillow with a moan that traveled all the way from the tightening pressure in his abdomen through every part of his chest, spilling out on the edge of a heartbeat. There were no words. Only feelings, carried on whispers and groans and gasps, came close to putting into the world the way it felt to have Victor moving against him, to have the wet heat of his mouth against his throat. 

It was too much, and soon, after what felt like only a handful of heartbeats, he was trembling and close to tumbling over the edge. “Victor, Victor, I’m . . . I’m going to—“ 

But Victor just brought his mouth to Yuuri’s and kissed him, deep and filthy, and rolled his hips once more, and Yuuri was gone. Crying Victor’s name out, over and over, fingers tangled in his hair, head buried against Victor's shoulder, pulsing and warm as he came between their bodies. 

Victor followed, hot against Yuuri's stomach, his hands clenched and bruising on Yuuri's skin, Yuuri's name on his lips and the most beautiful moan Yuuri could have ever dreamed. “God, Yuuri, Yuuri,” Victor groaned, breathless, shaking, crushing Yuuri to his chest. 

Panting in the afterglow, Victor drew back and kissed him, warm, gentle, breathless. "I . . . Yuuri . . .that was . . ." He gave up, and just brought their lips together again. 

Yuuri smiled, tired and happy, his fingers caressing absently along Victor's cheek. It was nice not to be the only one at a loss for words. "I know," he said, and kissed him back. 

Later, Yuuri burrowed against Victor's shoulder, warm in his arms. “I’m so happy I’m here with you,” Victor murmured as Yuuri's eyes drooped. “It’s better than any story I could have written.” 

* * *

Yuuri woke slowly to the sounds of a shower in the next room and was finally pulling himself completely awake when Victor came out of the bathroom in a loose pair of sweats and a t-shirt. “Mmmm, come here,” Yuuri mumbled and reached out. 

Victor smiled and came to him immediately, climbing into bed and pulling Yuuri into his arms. "I wanted to let you sleep as long as possible,” he said into the top of Yuuri’s hair, words muffled between soft kisses. 

“You should have woke me and let me into the shower with you,” Yuuri grumbled playfully. 

Victor pulled away, thoughtful. “That would have been a better idea actually.” 

Yuuri tried to pout but broke into giggles when Victor leaned in and tugged Yuuri’s lip between his teeth. "It would have been. I really hope you don't think anything's wrong with me for wanting to see you naked as much as possible.” 

Victor chuckled. “See, I knew you only wanted me for my body.” 

“Mmm, no, your body is just the icing on a very amazing cake,” Yuuri said, leaning in for another kiss. 

“Yeah?” Victor murmured. “That’s a sophisticated metaphor there.” 

Yuuri smiled against his lips. “It’s the best I could do. You’re distracting.” 

“You’re the distracting one,” Victor said. “And I can’t stop thinking about you naked either. So if there’s something wrong with you, it’s wrong with me too.” 

Yuuri basked in the words, wanting nothing more than to stay in bed with Victor the rest of the day. But like they always did, unwelcome thoughts would intrude. “I wish we weren't leaving today.” He sighed, and closed his eyes as he leaned his forehead against Victor’s. 

"Me neither." Victor pulled back to leave a trail of soft kisses on Yuuri’s head. “But we’ll see each other again soon.” 

“Yeah.” Yuuri held on to him a bit tighter. 

“Hey,” Victor said after a while, his words whisper soft, his hand caressing through Yuuri’s hair, “what are you thinking?” 

Yuuri let out a breath. “Just that . . . I know the next few weeks are going to be brutal, so I understand if . . . well if you don’t have time to meet or call after all.” God, what was he saying? None of that would be ok. 

Victor sighed and pulled Yuuri back to his chest. “No, that's not ok,” he said, an echo of Yuuri’s heart. “I would rather you say you won’t get tired of me calling you ten times a day, because I’m afraid I really might get on your nerves until I can see you again.” 

Yuuri let out a small, shaky laugh. The idea that he'd ever think he had too much of Victor was ridiculous. “I could never get tired of you.” 

“Good, because I could never get tired of you.” Victor loosened his hold to look at him, and in those expressive blue eyes Yuuri was sure he saw the same emotion currently filling his own heart. “Yuuri.” Victor sighed his name, his fingertips a caress against Yuuri’s face. “I like you so much.” 

Through a wobbly smile, Yuuri’s throat tightened and tears pricked the corners of his eyes. What they were to each other had grown and changed overnight, but Victor had been a part of his life far too long for ‘like’ to come close to holding everything Yuuri felt. But he also knew that some things are too early to say, and tried to hear everything Victor couldn’t yet put into words. 

Pulling Victor close, he kissed him over and over. “I like you so much too,” he said, breathless with emotion. With the desire to make wild, difficult promises and to keep them. With the weightlessness of a future filled with magic. “I mean it.” He then tugged Victor closer and brought their lips together again. 

This time, the kiss didn’t stay chaste or gentle, but deepened as Yuuri tilted his head and opened his mouth against Victor’s, willing his lips and tongue and hands to say everything he too couldn’t yet put into words. Victor seemed to know, and held on like he couldn’t get close enough, their hearts beating against each other. 

In all his years of dreaming and writing of worlds brimming with magic too large for any one person to hold on their own, he had never believed he’d find it for himself. It was something beyond anything he had ever imagined and in this moment, in Victor’s arms, he felt too small to contain it all. 

He, this city, this world, the whole wide curve of the universe felt too small. He could only hope he wasn’t wrong; that there really was enough of it to live outside these four walls, outside the fallen starlight of this city, outside of passing time and planes traveling in opposite directions. 

Maybe everyone in love thinks their story is the most magical and timeless. But Yuuri couldn’t help believing that maybe in their case it really was. Their love wouldn’t just live in the spaces between their bodies and whispered voices and shared hearts. It would also have life in all the words on all the pages they had yet to write. 

Yuuri suddenly pulled away from Victor, heart pounding, lips wet, breathing hard, and pushed himself up. “I need a pen and paper. Where’s a pen?” He stumbled out of bed and reached for his pants on the floor. 

“Yuuri.” 

He turned to see Victor holding out a pencil and pad of hotel paper. Yuuri snatched them and began scribbling. He didn’t know how long he wrote but the words poured out of him, until he had filled a dozen sheets of paper front and back and his fingers, unused to writing by hand, were cramping. 

The entire time, Victor watched and waited in silence, until finally Yuuri’s hand stilled and he looked up to meet Victor’s gaze. 

“Did you find it?” Victor asked. 

“Yeah.” Yuuri's smile was dazed and his heart raced. “I did.” 

Victor smiled back. “So can I now claim to be the muse behind your great love story?” 

Yuuri set down the paper and pencil and leaned over to place a soft kiss on Victor’s lips. “You always have been.” 

Victor leaned into the kiss and murmured his name on a breathless exhale. “Yuuri.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, there really is a JJ Thai in Chicago.  
  
And yes, Yuuri’s latest book is titled The Blade of Ice. I couldn’t resist. But it has a nice fantasy sound to it, don’t you think?  
  
[Where Yuuri had his book signing](http://www.after-wordschicago.com/)  
[Where big-shot Victor had his book signing ](https://www.chipublib.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/3/2013/08/cindy-pritzker-auditorium.jpg)  
[ Where Yuuri introduced Victor to the wonder of katsudon](https://www.umaichicago.com/gallery)  
[The fountain that Yurio thought was creepy (it really is) ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/martiger/4038316115/)  
[Yuuri and Victor were dancing at Cerise and this was their view](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jPBSQqNVIgM)  
[Victor’s hotel room ](https://www.interiordesign.net/slideshows/detail/8619-virgin-terrain/)  
  
I hope you enjoyed. I love these boys so much and hope they have long, happy, loving, sexy, dorky lives together.  
  



End file.
